Firsts Ensemble: Wheeljack and Blurr
by Mirage Shinkiro
Summary: NEW: Wheeljack has secretly loved Blurr for vorns, but he struggles to gather the courage to tell him. Other pairings: Mirage/Jazz, Optimus/Elita, Percy/Skyfire, Scavenger/Fireflight, Sunny/Roddy, Sunny/Mirage, Ironhide/Chromia.
1. Jazz and Mirage

**Update: **I have combined several of the "Firsts" stories here as "Ensemble." The number was getting big enough to overwhelm my story list. I apologize for making it harder to sort and find the stories from the search engines, but I feel this is best. Thank you to everyone who reviewed the stories I combined here, and I apologize for wiping out your comments in the process. I assure you that I greatly appreciate your feedback. (12/12/09)

* * *

_Title: Firsts: Mirage and Jazz _  
_Author:_ Mirage Shinkiro (with pl2363)

_Rating:_ T  
_Warnings:_ mech/mech kissing, a.k.a. intimacy between androgynous and nonsexually reproducing but male-"pronoun'd" 'bots.

_Disclaimer:_ Transformers is the property of Hasbro, and although I wish I could make money off the TF franchise so I could be independently wealthy, I am not. Alas, I remain poor and am just borrowing the lovely robots.

_Summary:_ G1. After sabotaging the Nemesis and sending it into the sea, Mirage is depressed over being unable to return to Cybertron, and Jazz tries to comfort him.

_A/N, explanation:_ This is another in a series of one shots about various couples, all of them surrounding a first kiss. Based on an RP with pl2363 and beta read by her as well. For … er, I can't remember who requested Mirage now. Oh, well. He's one of my original favorite characters, obviously, so he was going to show up no matter what.

oOoOo

_**Firsts: Mirage and Jazz **_

From a ledge etched into Mt. St. Hilary, Mirage relaxed in the cool evening air and stared into the twilight. Earth's sky had grown navy blue with the receding of the sun, and foreign constellations dotted the heavens, sparkling red, yellow, and white. In the distance, insects Hound had called 'crickets' chirped to one another, and a hawk dipped through the air in a lazy circle, looking for a meal. He knew Hound found the world beautiful, but when Mirage had sabotaged the Nemesis the day before, it'd underscored to him their inability to return to Cybertron. And Primus, how he missed home. He sighed through his intakes, saddened, only to pause at the sound of footsteps.

Glimpsing over his shoulder, Mirage saw Jazz walking along a path cut into the volcano by erosion, his radio playing human music. Humming quietly, he wandered along the upper ridge in the waning sunlight, but when his gaze fell on Mirage, he approached him and sat at his side. After turning off his radio, he smiled brightly. "Hey, there. What 'cha up to?"

Mirage gazed at his superior officer, unsurprised that he'd check on him. Jazz always looked after his Special Ops mechs. "Good evening, sir." He turned to stare at the flat stretch of desert that marred the otherwise densely forested landscape. Did he dare to be truthful? He smirked to himself. As if lying to Jazz would do any good. He made it his mission to understand soldiers' psychology. "I suppose it wouldn't surprise you if I said I was wondering where Cybertron is in comparison to here."

Glancing at the sky, Jazz seemed mesmerized by the stars. "'Sir,'" he repeated absently. "Do me a favor. When we're off duty, drop the 'sir' stuff, 'kay?"

Mirage pondered the request, studying Jazz's face as he did so. He'd never stopped to consider his crewmates, save Hound, who had ignored his aloof demeanor stubbornly until they'd become friends. However, despite his arrogant reputation, Mirage was too practical to judge anyone based on anything other than their abilities and actions. Even in the elite world of turbofox hunting, a pretty face and esteemed family heritage meant nothing if a 'bot was too stupid or careless to watch where he or she pointed the rifle. "As you wish, Jazz."

Jazz turned to give him a small smile. "I honestly have no clue which way Cybertron is." He returned to staring at their view. "But at least this planet is interesting to look at, don't ya think? I mean, if we're gonna be stuck someplace, this is way better than some other rocks we could've landed on, huh?"

Tilting his head, Mirage studied the profile. Of all his crewmates, Jazz was the most cultured, especially in regards to music. As Mirage gazed at him, he realized Jazz also had the coveted 'pretty face': his black helm framed his soft grey face nicely, and the electric blue of the specialty visor underscored his fine features, even though it hid his optics. "I suppose," he finally replied, "although I suspect you are far more adaptable than I. More than anyone I have ever met, you seem to find the good in everything." He glanced away and frowned, wondering at his openness with Jazz. "Perhaps I shouldn't admit it, but Towers' society practiced harsh critique instead."

"Sounds like ya didn't like living in the most prestigious sect of society." Jazz propped up his knees and rested his elbows on them. "I have to admit I always looked at those Towers and wondered what it was like inside. They were so pretty on the outside to rest of us."

Mirage paused, pondering whether he should elaborate, but in the end, no one except Hound ever asked him about it. Or cared. Mostly, they just seemed to hate him, and he knew his less-than-effusive personality didn't help. He decided to take Hound's repeated advice—"Open up and talk to people!"—and answer the implied question. "I loved it. I hated it." He sighed for the second time that night, pinning his gaze on the now-black sky with its multitude of twinkling lights. A cool breeze whipped over his plating, making him shiver. He propped up his knees as well and wrapped his arms around his legs. "I enjoyed traveling with friends, dancing at parties, and hunting. Seemingly endless credits kept me freshly painted and outfitted with the newest rifle. But there was a certain emptiness to it all, and snide gossips always stood in the corners at every social event, whispering and sneering."

"Ya know, gossips weren't confined to the Towers." Jazz gave him a small smile, then dropped his knees, stretching his legs out before him and leaning back on his palms. "Ya realize that, right?"

Watching him, Mirage wished that the visor didn't hide so much of his expression. "Indeed. But everyone always saw the world of the Towers as posh, with overflowing energon and ritzy parties. What they didn't see was the way so-called friends would backstab you, criticize you, and spread rumors about you." He paused, considering Jazz's laidback personality, and found himself envious of his easy charm. For a moment, he saw Jazz as unreal and untouchable as his own social world had been at times and reached out a hand, as though touching him would assure him Jazz was real. Coming back to himself, he dropped his hand abruptly and stared at the horizon. Weaving headlights in the distance announced the return of a patrol team, by the looks of it a racing set of twins.

"Our little hellions return," Jazz murmured. After watching the twins for a klik, he reached over and patted Mirage's shoulder. "I don't doubt the Towers 'bots could be ugly, but I bet they had some pretty nice bands play at those parties. I used to save up for dozens of orns to see the bands at the local clubs."

Mirage grimaced. "Well, sometimes. Depended on whose party it was." He gave Jazz a sideways glance and let himself smile. "Some of those old rod-up-the-aft mechs and femmes would only hire symphonies that played classical music." He snickered at his own crassness. "Not that I didn't like classical music, but I enjoyed variety. And some of those 'bots acted like hearing new music would break their audios." He shook his head, his gaze falling on the racing Twins, who were weaving around each other as they neared the Ark's entrance. They'd left a series of hourglass-shaped tracks in the dirt and sand that even his optics had trouble seeing. He was reminded of some of his more adventurous friends.

"I remember this mech named Sidewinder," Mirage continued. "He absolutely hated classical music, but his creators never allowed anything else be played in their home. So he let them hire a symphony for his coming-of-age party, but then paid them behind his creators' backs to play symphonic arrangements of his favorite songs." He laughed at the memory. "Oh, you should have seen the look on their faceplates when they began playing the first few notes of 'Kissing under the Stars'! I thought—" Mirage cut himself off abruptly as the memory slipped away from him, replaced instead by the image of Sidewinder's and his creators' charred remains, incinerated in a 'Con attack. He lowered his head and bit his bottom lip as the pain burned through his circuits.

To Mirage's surprise, Jazz moved close to him and tentatively wrapped an arm around his shoulders. After the initial touch, his hand drifted to the center of Mirage's back and began stroking his armor. "Ya know, it's okay to let it out. In fact, it's better to do it in little bursts. When ya hold it in it just festers, and then yer no good to anyone, especially yerself."

Mirage started to tense up, but the gentle touch and the kind voice made it impossible as Jazz continued the gentle massage along the center of his back. He had never been physically affectionate, and he'd never received much affection, either. The Towers had been a world of glass, as though everyone were off-limits except during interfacing. Irritated by the constraints placed on him by a society that no longer even existed, Mirage purposely turned into the touch, dipping his shoulder and lowering his head to Jazz's shoulder. The arm around him felt warm and comforting.

"Primus, Jazz," he whispered. "I don't even know where to begin." He stared forward listlessly, his gaze moving past the angled view of Jazz's front chassis and landing on clump of dirt beyond Jazz's thigh. Wilted, bug-eaten weeds lay flat on the clump's surface. "I see their faces when I recharge," he continued, unable to stop himself now that he'd started. "Optics darkened or cracked. Mouths hanging open. Chassis burned, limbs torn off. Twisted steel beams and bent doors among the rubble. I can even still hear the scream of Seeker engines zooming overhead and smell burnt wires and soured energon." He snorted, suddenly hating himself. "What the slag am I saying? Every one of us has seen the same thing, and usually they saw their homes destroyed like that, too." He shivered, caught somewhere between pain and disgust. "I'm no different on that count." His tone turned acidic. Bitter. "Sorry for whining."

Jazz wrapped his arm back over Mirage's shoulders and gave him another gentle hug. "Just 'cause we have all seen it doesn't mean it has any less impact on us each as individuals. Don't trivialize it like that." He pulled Mirage closer, as though he wished to infuse him with his peace or strength. As though the warmth of contact could chase away ghosts.

"I suppose." Mirage paused, feeling a slow increase of warmth from Jazz's armor. _Is he actually enjoying holding me?_ Surprised, he lifted his head and gazed at the face now so close to his own. A small frown downturned Jazz's lips, and Mirage knew enough about him to assume he wouldn't be taken advantage of. Still, in that moment, he was struck by how easily affectionate Jazz was, how kind, how handsome. And he wanted, more than anything, to have a connection to life, to have a reason to be alive. Mind made up, he slowly reached out, giving Jazz plenty of time to pull away, and ran his fingers across his cheek and jaw before capturing his chin. "Would you mind . . . ?" He let the question trail off and leaned in, brushing his lips over Jazz's.

Jazz captured his lips gracefully, molding them together. His energy field flared into Mirage's as he softly sucked his bottom lip, and he shifted his arm, pulling Mirage against him. Mirage obliged him, straddling his lap. He wasn't surprised to find Jazz was an excellent kisser, but he had underestimated the effect on himself. With the warm plating against his, the soft but insistent lips on his, Mirage had to swallow a moan. He ran his arms around Jazz's neck, his circuits tingling as the heat of arousal rushed through his circuits.

Gently nipping at Mirage's lower lip, Jazz swept his glossa teasingly against his, as though asking for permission to enter. Mirage gasped involuntarily, letting him in, and ran his own glossa against Jazz's. Unable to stop himself, Mirage moaned into the kiss, enchanted by the warmth invading his mouth, and pressed against Jazz's chassis. Arching into him, Jazz enveloped his mouth, their glossae entwining. Hands splayed over Mirage's back, and their frames rubbed against one another, sending a ripple over his sensory net. Pulling back, Jazz slid his glossa over Mirage's one last time before letting it retreat, and then he once again molded their lips together, sealing the end of the kiss.

Jazz didn't pull away, leaving their faces close together, and nuzzled Mirage's nose. "That was not what I expected ya to do, although it _was_ very nice." He grinned.

Mirage paused until he was sure he'd regained control of himself. He'd gone so long without someone to date, someone to love, that he felt like a starving sparkling grasping for energon. "I'm sorry if it shocked you," he whispered, worried that Jazz was only humoring him. He pulled back and glanced away, although he didn't relinquish his seat. "I realize you probably have no interest in me and probably don't want to be involved with someone whom you'll be giving orders to." He paused, feeling as though his spark was slowly being extinguished. "I just . . ." He lost his wording, finding himself unable to explain. "You're intelligent. And your understanding of culture and the arts is so keen. And . . ." He bit his lip again. He'd never been good at communicating his feelings, and the game that surrounded dating mystified him with all its seemingly random and overcomplicated rules. He drew his arms back from Jazz's neck and rested his hands on his chest, wondering if he should just climb off his lap and act like nothing happened.

Sweeping the back of his fingers against Mirage's cheek, Jazz gave him a gentle smile. He tipped Mirage's chin up so their gazes could meet. "No interest? Ya have a glitch or somethin'?" He wrapped the other arm firmly around the spy's back and leaned forward to lightly nuzzle Mirage's nose. "If anyone should feel unworthy here, it's me. My upbringin' wasn't exactly posh." Stretching up, he placed a reverent kiss to the bridge of Mirage's nose. "Sometimes feelings can't be expressed with words, and that kiss spoke volumes. Unless I'm readin' too much into it, and I have to admit I hope not."

Mirage felt a flash of warmth through his circuits at the kind words. He smiled sadly, letting his gaze rest on the number 4 painted on Jazz's chest. "Let me tell you something about nobility. As much as I resented the 'Cons for destroying my home, I was only a half-hearted solider," he said quietly. "Killing turbofoxes was one thing. Fellow Cybertronians is quite another." He reached up and ran delicate fingertips over the four. "I hadn't been in Iacon long when I was sent on a mission with Topdog. Do you remember him? He was even more grizzly than Ironhide." He snorted. "I was a total glitch to him, disgusted to be on a mission with a low-life grunt. We were ambushed, and he saved my life despite being badly injured in the process. I tried to thank him, and he smacked me in the face." Mirage lifted his gaze to meet Jazz's. "He told me that nobility is defined by one's actions." He reached up, running soft fingers over Jazz's cheek and jaw. "I've realized since then that he was right." He brushed his thumb over Jazz's lips and offered him a small smile.

Jazz gently kissed his thumb before smiling. "I remember him. Sounds like something he'd say." His optics dimmed behind his visor. "Ya know, life is a funny ol' thing. I never once expected to be anyplace in particular—just went with the flow, tried to enjoy the ride. In the middle of a war it's not an easy thing to do, but I decided a long time ago that no matter what I'll fight for our freedom but not lose sight of why we're fightin'." He reached up and cupped Mirage's cheek, pulling him close. Brushing his lips over Mirage's lightly, he spoke in a hushed voice. "How 'bout goin' on the ride with me? Ya know, getting to know me off duty?" As though determined to not allow to Mirage to immediately answer, he kissed him again. The contact caused their energy fields to ripple in other each other.

Caught in the sensation of the warm lips, Mirage lost himself in the feeling of having Jazz hold him, care for him, show him attention. The question hung in his mind, ringing in his processor, inviting him to have hope. He pulled back and considered the beautiful mech before him. "If you can bear to pair yourself with such an 'antisocial' mech, then I'd love to." He leaned in, capturing the soft lips that hovered so close to his and sucking Jazz's bottom lip gently. Jazz returned kiss, parting his lips and inviting Mirage the opportunity to invade this time. Feeling Jazz's lips part, Mirage delved inside, running his glossa along Jazz's and moaning faintly at the feeling.

Jazz hugged Mirage's frame close. With one hand, he kneaded Mirage's lower back, and with the other he reached up, slipping fingertips into the wiring under Mirage's shoulder strut. Those graceful hands caressing his back and teasing his chassis made Mirage's circuits burn, and he pressed closer, rubbing their bodies together. He shifted on Jazz's lap and captured his helm with both hands, loving the feel of their glossae meeting. So long . . . it had been too long. He let his hands wander, delicately stroking Jazz's armor and moving upward to his sensory horns. Unsure what effect his actions would have, Mirage caressed the appendages, letting his fingertips trace their shape, and for a moment he wondered what would happen if he ran his glossa over them instead. As though acting on the hidden desire, Mirage found himself capturing Jazz's glossa with his lips, releasing it slowly as he pulled back and enjoying the feel of it passing between his lips.

Jazz's frame lightly shuddered beneath him, and his fingers curled deeper in between seams on Mirage's frame as he broke the kiss. "Mirage? Ah, I think yer reaching my point of no return here. What do ya want? 'Cause I want more than just a good time."

Dazed, Mirage offlined his optics, panting in an attempt to cool his systems. "S-sorry." He leaned his forehead against Jazz's shoulder, embarrassed. "I wasn't trying to . . . I want more than just a quick 'facing."

Jazz cradled him, pulling his knees up to trap him against his chassis. He wrapped his arms around him, hugging him tightly, and rested his cheek against Mirage's helm, his frame emitting popping sounds as his systems cooled. "As much as I would be happy to keep going, I don't wanna move too fast. Hope yer okay with that."

"Of course," he said, willing himself to accept the kind caresses and let go of the mortification that echoed through his processor with the memory of his creators' voices. _"What are you doing? Kissing the first 'bot to look your way? You know better than to behave in such a fashion! How could you be so uncouth?"_ Mirage impatiently batted away the recriminations. He'd known Jazz for vorns now, so it wasn't as though he'd thrown himself at a stranger. "I don't want to move too fast, either."

"Good, I'm glad we agree," Jazz murmured. He glided his fingers in little circles against Mirage's plating. "If it's okay, I just wanna sit here and hold ya for a while." He turned his head and kissed Mirage's helm, then rested his cheek against his head again. "It feels not only good, but also right."

Onlining his optics, Mirage rested his chin on Jazz's shoulder. "That would be nice," he whispered. Almost as an afterthought, he braced his feet against the ground and pushed on Jazz, toppling them over.

"Whoa!" Jazz chuckled, but he didn't resist. "Warn a mech, would ya?" He settled on the ground and relaxed, holding Mirage close.

"Sorry," Mirage replied, then curled into Jazz's frame, tucking his face against his neck and resting one hand on his chest. The faint vibration of Jazz's spark under his armor tingled against his palm, and he smiled, relaxing as well. The night breeze wafted over their bodies, but in the circle of Jazz's arms, Mirage found he couldn't be chilled. From the corner of his optics, he could see the thousands of stars piercing Earth's atmosphere, their yellow and white light glittering. He exhaled slowly, having not realized he had been retaining air in his intakes, and realized he couldn't spend the night a better way that this: under the stars with Jazz.

* * *

_Postscript: Pl2363 and I enjoyed writing this pairing so well we're considering writing a full-length story._

_Thank you to everyone who has been reviewing and/or faving my "Firsts" stories!_

_For those requesting MiragexHound, I've already written a full-length story for them that I'm editing now, so I may not be doing a "Firsts" for them. The list thus far:_

_"Firsts: Prowl and Sideswipe"—posted  
"Firsts: Wheeljack and Ratchet"—posted  
"Firsts: Prowl and Jazz"—posted  
"Firsts: Hot Rod and Sunstreaker"—posted  
"Firsts: Mirage and Jazz"—here  
"Firsts: Prime and Elita—forthcoming  
"Firsts: Skyfire and Perceptor—forthcoming  
"Firsts: Thundercracker and Skywarp—forthcoming _


	2. Optimus and Elita

_Title: Firsts: Optimus Prime and Elita One _  
_Author:_ Mirage Shinkiro

_Rating:_ K+

_Disclaimer:_ Transformers is the property of Hasbro, and although I wish I could make money off the TF franchise so I could be independently wealthy, I am not. Alas, I remain poor and am just borrowing the lovely robots.

_Summary:_ G1. The newly created Optimus Prime mourns the loss of Ariel and Dion, only to find he's not as alone as he first thought.

_A/N, explanation:_ This is another in a series of one shots about various couples, all of them surrounding a first kiss.

I've had several requests for an Optimus Prime one. Enjoy! I know I didn't have to put him with Elita, even though they're canon, but I thought it would be interesting to pick up where "War Dawn" ends.

oOoOo

_**Firsts: Optimus and Elita**_

She was dead.

They all were.

Optimus Prime stared at the docking warehouse's rubble. In a matter of a few joors, he'd lost his girlfriend, his best friend, and his five new, strange friends. Megatron had killed Ariel and Dion, and the five odd Autobots had, from what he would discern, killed themselves in order to stop Megatron's troops. Stopped them they had. Megatron had fled three breems ago. But, as though it flew away with Megatron's retreating silver form, Optimus Prime's previous life had been destroyed as well.

Now the sun set, casting a crimson glow on the corpses, and scorch marks decorated the golden-hued dock. Tiny pieces of shrapnel floated in the once-clear water, and the gentle lapping of the waves no longer soothed him. Optimus sat on the dock's edge, letting his feet dangle in the water, and wondered what his new life should mean.

Quiet footsteps drew his attention. The older mech who had repaired him approached from behind him. What had his name been? Oh, yes . . . "Greetings, Alpha Trion."

"Don't be so formal, my friend." Alpha Trion stiffly lowered himself to sit by him. "I suppose you must be overwhelmed now, to have offlined as a dock worker and onlined as a warrior."

Optimus nodded. "Perhaps." He paused and decided to be more truthful than polite. "Yes. But I am grateful to you for my life."

"Whatever that may be?" Alpha Trion asked. "I assume you're wondering just that."

"Indeed." Optimus placed a hand over his chest, where his spark chamber lay. "The odd device you installed over my spark chamber seems to whisper to my consciousness of resistance movements and battle strategies."

Alpha Trion patted his knee. "I am sorry I did not have time to explain, but Megatron was destroying everything in sight." He sighed and shook his head. "What I gave you was the Autobot Matrix of Leadership. Perhaps you have heard it called the Creation Matrix?"

"The Matrix?" Optimus stared at his chest, stunned that he would be given such an important relic. He could feel the warm energy of the Matrix heating his chassis.

"It has the gathered knowledge of every Autobot leader to exist since we first rebelled against our Quintesson rulers eons ago." Alpha Trion watched him with a small smile. "It will grant you great wisdom, so use it well."

_Quintesson?_ Optimus wondered, but he didn't pursue the optic. Instead, he lowered his hand and clenched his fists in his lap. A great honor had been bestowed upon him, although he wasn't sure why. But with it came an equally great responsibility—one he knew he'd have to handle well. "I will strive to do my best."

"I know you will." Alpha Trion struggled to his feet and extended his hand. "Although I have passed the mantle of my leadership to you, you do not have to shoulder your new destiny alone."

Despite taking his hand, Optimus made sure to put little weight on his creator as he stood. Alpha Trion seemed exhausted. "I will have you to talk to, won't I?"

"Yes. But not just me." Alpha Trion gestured toward the destroyed building, and two figures stepped around the corner. One was a tall mech, roughly his height, with red, blue, and white paint much like his own. The other was a slender femme with pink paint.

"Ariel?" Optimus whispered, his spark surging painfully.

"Yes." Alpha Trion gestured for the two 'bots to come closer. "I believe you knew them as Ariel and Dion. However, they have been rebuilt as warriors as well. I present to you Elita One and Ultra Magnus."

Stunned to have the two most important 'bots in his life back with him, Optimus reached out one hand to them, only to let it fall. Was it true? Was it really them? He had been so sure he'd have to begin his new life alone. "Elita One? Ultra Magnus?"

They all gazed at each other, and then as though sharing one mind, they ran toward each other, collapsing into an awkward group hug. When they released each other, Ultra Magnus hugged him again.

"I'm so glad you're with me," Optimus told him as he patted his back. "You're my oldest friend."

"I'm glad to still be here, trust me," Ultra Magnus replied. "And I'll help you fight Megatron. Whatever it takes."

They released each other and smiled, then Optimus turned to Elita. She smiled at him, and Optimus could sense her original determined nature in addition to a fighting spirit. Although her paint colors remained the same, her helm had sharper lines and her faceplates were less rounded. The effect was a sense of maturity that matched the wisdom Optimus could sense radiating from her.

Elita gazed at him, seemingly entranced as well. She reached up, running her fingertips over the mask that now protected his face. "Different and yet the same," she whispered, a slow smile gracing her features. "I sense such power within you."

Optimus grasped her hand, squeezing it lightly, then pulled her into a hug. Ignoring their audience, he leaned down, retracting his mask and brushing their lips together briefly. When she didn't object to this very public display of affection, he kissed her again, this time molding their lips together and holding her tight against his chest as they re-affirmed their relationship.

Becoming aware of the silence around him, Optimus broke the kiss and triggered his battle mask closed again. Elita's lips quirked into a half-smile, and he could tell she wouldn't let him off so easily once they were alone together.

"It will be a pleasure to fight Megatron alongside you," Elita said, her voice lower, more alto. Still, the love they had shared before still shone in her optics.

"And so begins a new chapter in the Autobot cause," Alpha Trion murmured.

Optimus wrapped his arm around Elita's waist, then turned to face their creator. "I hope we will all three do you proud, then."

He smiled. "I'm sure you will, Optimus Prime. I'm sure you will."

* * *

_Postscript: So, this one was a bit different, but considering Optimus and Elita were already in love and together, technically, I figured it had to be. I also decided to play along with RID's and DW's implications that Dion because Magnus, obviously. Their colors aren't the same, whereas Optimus's and Elita's are, but hey, Dion deserved to be saved, too._

_Thanks to everyone who has reviewed and/or faved my other "Firsts" stories. The list so far is thus:_

_"Firsts: Prowl and Sideswipe"—posted  
"Firsts: Wheeljack and Ratchet"—posted  
"Firsts: Prowl and Jazz"—posted  
"Firsts: Hot Rod and Sunstreaker"—posted  
"Firsts: Mirage and Jazz"—posted  
"Firsts: Optimus and Elita" —here  
"Firsts: Skyfire and Perceptor"—forthcoming  
"Firsts: Skywarp and Thundercracker"—forthcoming _


	3. Perceptor and Skyfire

_Title: Firsts: Skyfire and Perceptor_  
_Author:_ Mirage Shinkiro

_Rating:_ T  
_Warnings:_ mech/mech kissing, a.k.a. intimacy between androgynous and nonsexually reproducing but male-"pronoun'd" 'bots.

_Disclaimer:_ Transformers is the property of Hasbro, and although I wish I could make money off the TF franchise so I could be independently wealthy, I am not. Alas, I remain poor and am just borrowing the lovely robots.

_Summary:_ G1. The Autobots learn about Valentine's Day, but Perceptor doesn't have anyone special to spend it with. Or so he thought until Skyfire arrived.

_A/N, explanation:_ This is another in a series of one shots about various couples, all of them surrounding a first kiss.

This story references the super fuel from "The Key to Vector Sigma." Also, for this story, I'm going with the smaller version of Skyfire, where he's only a few feet taller than Megatron, not the version where he's so big multiple TFs can ride inside him.

For Shail666, who wanted to see TFs' reactions to other human holidays, and Okami Myrrhibis, who requested Skyfire/Percy.

oOoOo

_**Firsts: Skyfire and Percy**_

Sitting in his lab, Perceptor stared at the blue computer terminal screen with its white text. The formula for the humans' new 'super-fuel' stared back at him, and he knew he should be working to fix the compatibility issues that would allow the Autobots to turn the fuel into energon. However, he couldn't concentrate. Even the hum of computer systems and faint smell of the ozone created by those systems distracted him. The sound of laughter floated in from the hallway, reminding Perceptor of how incredibly lonely he'd become on Earth. It was a loneliness all too apparent thanks to Blaster's and Jazz's suggestion to celebrate the human holiday Valentine's Day. Perceptor sighed, forcing himself to focus on his work.

The ring of footsteps against the metal deck plating drew Perceptor's attention to the room's entrance. Skyfire made his way across the room, smiling.

"Hi!" Skyfire eased his larger frame into a chair beside Perceptor. "Why aren't you at the party? I heard Prime give you permission to stop working on the formula for the afternoon."

Perceptor shuddered, although he was far too kind to make fun of his fellow Autobots. "I saw the oversized red and pink cardboard hearts that Spike and Bumblebee helped Jazz and Blaster make. I wasn't sure my optic sensors could handle red and pink decorations against the golden-orange-tinted walls."

Skyfire laughed. "It _is_ horrible. But you missed the best part! The Twins ground up those tiny, multi-color candy hearts the humans eat and laced the energon with them."

Cringing with disgust, Perceptor shook his head. "That must taste dreadful."

"You have no idea." Skyfire simply laughed again. "Still, it's fun, so you should come down. Smokescreen has a betting pool running for how long it takes Inferno and Jazz to get Red Alert and Prowl out of their offices. Carly's helping everyone make these weird 'cards' out of poster board, and you're supposed to write silly love confessions or poems for your bondmate or secret crush. And Sparkplug's spent the last three breems trying to explain to Beachcomber and Hound why humans kill flowers and then give their carcasses to those they love."

Perceptor felt his optic ridge rise. "Dead flowers to signify love? That is most disturbing." Yet even as he grimaced at the idea, he couldn't help thinking _No one would give me flowers, dead or alive._ With that, he sighed once more. After getting roughed up by warriors such as Brawn, Cliffjumper, and Sunstreaker, Perceptor was beginning to wonder if he'd be truly accepted on Earth. Meeting Skyfire had been a relief. At least Wheeljack and he could understand Perceptor when he talked. With a sigh, he reached toward the computer controls.

Reaching out, Skyfire grabbed his hand. "Percy, I was serious. You should take a break and come to the party. The human love songs Blaster's playing aren't any sappier than the Golden Age ones on Cybertron, and all you have to do is refuse the energon."

Perceptor stared at the larger, white hand that held his own grey hand so gently. He smiled, touched by his friend's concern. Of all the 'bots in the base, Skyfire was the one Perceptor had developed a crush on. "You're always so kind," he murmured.

"I was never meant to be a warrior," Skyfire reminded him. "My only love was science."

"'Was?'" Perceptor echoed. He pulled away his hand and refused to meet Skyfire's gaze.

Pulling a red poster board from subspace, Skyfire held it out to him. "Was."

With careful movements, Perceptor gingerly accepted the hand-sized 'card.' In black letters, the Valentine read: _Be mine! Happy Valentine's Day, Perceptor!_ For a solid klik, he couldn't draw any air through his intakes. "Be yours?"

Skyfire chuckled and looked away. "Carly has us using classic Earth sayings."

Setting the card on his terminal, Perceptor turned to face Skyfire. "So what does it mean to 'be' yours?"

Glancing back, Skyfire graced him with a mischievous grin. "I'd very much like for you to find out."

"You would?" Perceptor's entire frame heated up at the implication.

Running his hand behind Perceptor's helm, Skyfire leaned forward, brushing their lips together. "If you find that acceptable."

Perceptor nodded mutely, overwhelmed by the concept that his secret crush liked him. Skyfire ran his other arm around his shoulders, pulling him against his broad chest, and kissed him, capturing his bottom lip and sucking on it gently. Preceptor grabbed his waist, hugging him, and forgot all his loneliness as warm, soft lips molded to his own. Skyfire shifted, placing his hand on his lower back and caressing the plating there, and Perceptor gasped, having gone so long without dating that he'd forgotten how good it felt to be touched. Skyfire teased his parted lips with his glossa, asking permission to deepen the kiss, and Perceptor responded immediately, opening his mouth and running their glossae together.

Breaking the kiss after a klik, Skyfire pulled back and smiled softly, although he kept his hand on Perceptor's back, massaging it. "I'm glad we tried out this strange human holiday. It gave me just the chance I needed to ask you out." He moved his free hand to Perceptor's face, cupping his cheek and tracing his cheek seam with his thumb.

Perceptor leaned into the touch, shutting off his optics to enjoy the feel. Being held so close by the larger mech, that strong arm around him, made him feel safe and loved. He leaned his head against Skyfire's chest and smiled to himself. "I'm glad, also. I've been wanting to tell you how I felt for awhile now, but I wasn't sure you felt the same."

"Love can make cowards of all of us." Skyfire bent down and kissed the top of his helm.

Chuckling faintly, Perceptor found he had to agree. "Assuredly. But that's what little red cards with juvenile expressions of love are for."

Skyfire laughed. "I suppose so." He released him and held out his hand. "Come to the party with me?"

Perceptor slid his hand into Skyfire's, amazed again by how the warm, white fingers seemed to engulf his entire hand. To him, it seemed beautiful. "Certainly."

Trading smiles, the new couple made their way to the obnoxiously loud rec room with its nauseating décor.

* * *

_Postscript: Beta read by pl2363. Thank you!_

_Thanks to everyone who has been reviewing and/or faving my other "Firsts" stories. Here's the list thus far:_

_"Firsts: Prowl and Sideswipe"—posted  
"Firsts: Wheeljack and Ratchet"—posted  
"Firsts: Prowl and Jazz"—posted  
"Firsts: Hot Rod and Sunstreaker"—posted  
"Firsts: Mirage and Jazz"—posted  
"Firsts: Optimus and Elita"—posted  
"Firsts: Skyfire and Perceptor"—here  
"Firsts: Thundercracker and Skywarp"—forthcoming  
"Firsts: Ratchet and Sideswipe—forthcoming  
"Firsts: Scavenger and Fireflight—forthcoming (yeah, you read that right)_


	4. Scavenger and Fireflight

_Title: Firsts: Scavenger and Fireflight_  
_Author:_ Mirage Shinkiro

_Rating:_ T  
_Warnings:_ mech/mech kissing, a.k.a. intimacy between androgynous and nonsexually reproducing but male-"pronoun'd" 'bots.

_Disclaimer:_ Transformers is the property of Hasbro, and although I wish I could make money off the TF franchise so I could be independently wealthy, I am not. Alas, I remain poor and am just borrowing the lovely robots.

_Summary:_ G1. The air-headed Fireflight manages to crash in the forest near a lonely Scavenger, who decides one oddball mech deserves another and steals a kiss. Crack pairing.

_A/N, explanation:_ This is another in a series of one shots about various couples, all of them surrounding a first kiss. **Set before "War Dawn,"** which if you don't remember it is the episode where the Aerialbots decide they hate the 'Cons.

Orn=one day.

For Veritrix, who requested the pairing. I love a good challenge, and this one grabbed my curiosity.

oOoOo

_**Firsts: Scavenger and Fireflight**_

Busy digging a hole deep into the Oregon forest floor, Scavenger only vaguely noted the sound of jet engines. Said jet had to be a Seeker, he assumed, since the fine-tuned pitch of the engines far outstripped anything the humans could build. Unconcerned, since the Seekers generally ignored his existence, Scavenger continued digging, hoping the unusual metal reading he'd detected meant he'd find something useful for the Decepticons. It was his dream to find a Cybertronian artifact, something lost during the Ark's crash, perhaps. Then Megatron and the others would finally see he had as much value as the other Constructicons. Wrapped up in his daydream of finally winning approval, Scavenger continued his excavation.

However, his concentration was rudely interrupted by a sickening _boom_ that shook the trees and rained leaves upon his chassis. The screeching of metal pierced his audios, and the birds evacuated the forest with frightened squawks and the furious flapping of wings. Scavenger transformed and, seeing a plume of smoke rising above the treetops, made his way to the crash site, imagining himself the orn's hero for having rescued a Seeker in need. With some ire, he slapped away the tree limbs that battered his face, but his irritation paled in comparison to his anger at finding the red and white Phantom II jet tangled up in the twisted remains of an Earth relay tower. He had forgotten about Prime's new little creations.

"Fireflight," Scavenger muttered, experiencing the urge to shoot him through the spark, only to brighten considerably when he realized Megatron might be pleased to get an Autobot prisoner to interrogate or bully.

The Aerialbot transformed and tried to extract himself from the wreckage, only to tangle himself up further. Working his way onto his back, Fireflight struggled to sit up, slapping metal shards and broken tree limbs from his body and trying to pull his weapon from subspace, only to apparently realize that his right arm was now hopelessly pinned under the tower's remains. Unable to succeed, he eased himself back to the ground and glared at Scavenger. "What do you want, Decepticreep?"

"A prisoner." Scavenger crouched at Fireflight's side, pondering whether to bind him or knock him unconscious for his trip back to the Nemesis. However, as he peered at the ridiculously innocent, white face, Scavenger realized Fireflight would make a worthless prisoner. The Aerialbot didn't seem to pay any attention to where he was _flying_, much less anything else. In fact, Scavenger would either be scorned or yelled at for hauling him in. "Never mind," he sighed, feeling momentarily defeated in his quest to be accepted by his fellow 'Cons. "You're useless." _Just as useless as I am._

Fireflight ceased struggling against the twisted metal that pinned him. "I am?"

Snickering, Scavenger shook his head at how clueless Fireflight sounded. "Certainly. You can't even fly in a straight line." After their second battle with the Aerialbots, the Seekers had created a drinking game in which they had to take a shot of high-grade for every time Fireflight crashed into something. They'd bring up footage from Laserbeak's or Ravage's automatic recordings and proceed to get thoroughly over-energized.

"Sure I can." Fireflight glowered at him, only to pause and glance away. "If I pay attention."

Feeling a pulse of empathy for the oddball, Scavenger settled on the ground beside him. Fireflight only had worth as a component of Superion, just as he only had worth as a component of Devastator. "Why in the Pit did you crash _this_ time, anyway?" he asked, taking a bet that the naïve, new Autobot would answer him.

Fireflight hesitated, as though considering whether to reply, then began babbling. "Well, actually I was on routine patrol, but I got separated from Slingshot and I really don't know how. But then I noticed how green the trees and grass have gotten again, and I realized it was due to the coming of what humans call 'spring' and started sifting through my memory files from my previous life to see if Cybertron ever had seasons. But then I realized the files were mostly corrupted and so I was going to simply enjoy this 'spring' for what it's worth when I realized there was a relay tower and well . . ." He trailed off and, using his free hand, rubbed his helm sheepishly.

Scavenger really wanted to make fun of jet, but he ended up laughing instead. "You really do put new meaning into that human phrase 'air-headed.'"

Laughing as well, Fireflight shrugged faintly, only to apparently remind himself how badly pinned he was. He sobered immediately and watched Scavenger with a wary expression.

_And with good cause,_ Scavenger thought as his gaze trailed over the smooth planes of the white face. Fireflight wasn't just a fellow oddball, he was also a _jet._ A jet with sleek, beautiful wings like a Seeker but without the insufferably arrogant attitude. For a moment, Scavenger wondered what it would be like to kiss him, and the dangerous thrill of kissing an _Autobot_ sang through his circuits. "So very off-limits," he murmured. "So very taboo."

Fireflight stared at him with wide optics. "Off-limits? Taboo?" He sounded a touch afraid. "What is?"

The fear only aroused Scavenger more, and an illicit fantasy ran through his processor. His tastes weren't as violent as some other 'Cons' were, so instead of daydreaming that he'd rape the jet, he imagined that Fireflight would end up genuinely succumbing to desire and helpless moans as Scavenger touched him with his talented hands and mouth. Scavenger's core temperature rose a full degree at the idea, and unable to resist a dream so incredibly alluring, he crawled over, climbing on top of the pinned jet and holding down his free arm by capturing it between his leg and Fireflight's own body.

"What are you doing!" Fireflight struggled furiously, but he couldn't extract himself from under both Scavenger and the twisted relay tower.

Scavenger leaned down, running gentle fingertips over the expanse of one white wing and drawing an involuntary shiver from the jet. "Wondering what it would feel like to kiss an Autobot."

Growing suddenly still, Fireflight stared at him blankly. "Kiss?"

"Don't act like you've never done it before." Scavenger snickered, then leaned closer to Fireflight's face . . . only to realize the blank look hadn't faded. "Wait. _Have_ you been kissed before?"

"Of course!" Fireflight turned his face away, tilting up his chin in a mild show of defiance.

Scavenger thought he might pop a gasket at the realization he'd be stealing the Autobot's first kiss. "Makes sense. How long have you been alive? Ten orns? Less?" Fireflight wouldn't reply, so Scavenger traced the edge of his wing with one finger. "Oh, please. Isn't it alluring? The thought of flaunting a taboo? Trying your first kiss?"

"No," Fireflight whispered, sounding particularly unconvincing. Apparently the daydreamer's considerable imagination had made short work of him.

With a faint snort of amusement, Scavenger grasped Fireflight's chin, aligning their faces, and brushed his lips across his. "Are you sure?"

Fireflight gasped at the touch, and gaining confidence, Scavenger molded their lips together, reveling in the feel of the warm metal and pulling Fireflight's bottom lip between his own, sucking on it gently. Fireflight whimpered in response, so Scavenger slowly slipped his glossa into his mouth, giving him time to adjust. Then he slid his glossa across Fireflight's, teasing him into action, and they began exploring each other's mouths, rubbing, flicking, tasting. Scavenger moaned at Fireflight's curiosity and easy passion and slipped his hands around his helm, gently running his thumbs down Fireflight's cheek seams.

Scavenger had just made up his mind to introduce Fireflight to his first interface when he heard the sound of several approaching jets. He broke their kiss and ran a sensor sweep to see what kind of trouble he would soon face. Four Autobot signals answered his ping, and he cursed at his luck. "Looks like your team has arrived to rescue you."

"Yeah." Fireflight gazed up at him with a dazed expression, which made Scavenger want to kiss him again.

Still, he decided he'd better leave before Big Brother Silverbolt arrived and let the gung ho Air Raid and Slingshot have their way. He stood and waved at Fireflight as he walked away. "Don't assume I'll show you any mercy on the battlefield." He glanced over his shoulder. "Don't assume I'll hurt you off the battlefield, either."

He smiled as he made his way to the Nemesis, the final image of his encounter with Fireflight being the sight of the young jet touching his own lips with an expression of awe.

* * *

_Postscript: Does anyone else think it's weird that the Aerialbots are portrayed as very naïve and immature, save Silverbolt, but can still remember what they were in their "previous" life? It's almost a contradiction. It's probably another G1 comic vs. cartoon continuity issue._

_Thanks to everyone who has been reviewing and/or faving my other "Firsts" stories. Here's the list thus far:_

_"Firsts: Prowl and Sideswipe"—posted  
"Firsts: Wheeljack and Ratchet"—posted  
"Firsts: Prowl and Jazz"—posted  
"Firsts: Hot Rod and Sunstreaker"—posted  
"Firsts: Mirage and Jazz"—posted  
"Firsts: Optimus and Elita"—posted  
"Firsts: Skyfire and Perceptor"—posted  
"Firsts: Thundercracker and Skywarp"—posted  
"Firsts: Ratchet and Sideswipe"—posted  
"Firsts: Scavenger and Fireflight"—here  
"Firsts: Drift and Perceptor"—forthcoming  
"Firsts: Prowl and Bluestreak"—forthcoming_


	5. Sunstreaker and Hot Rod

_Title: Firsts: Sunstreaker and Hot Rod_  
_Author:_ Mirage Shinkiro (with pl2363)

_Rating:_ T  
_Warnings:_ mech/mech kissing, a.k.a. intimacy between androgynous and nonsexually reproducing but male-"pronoun'd" 'bots.

_Disclaimer:_ Transformers is the property of Hasbro, and although I wish I could make money off the TF franchise so I could be independently wealthy, I am not. Alas, I remain poor and am just borrowing the lovely robots.

_Summary:_ G1. Sunstreaker finds himself inexplicably drawn to a warrior as beautiful and rash as himself: Hot Rod.

_A/N, explanation:_ This is another in a series of one shots about various couples, all of them surrounding a first kiss. Gift fic for pl2363, who (ironically) RPed part of one scene with me. She also beta read it.

oOoOo

**Firsts: Sunstreaker and Hot Rod**

Sunstreaker eased himself into 'his' corner booth in the rec room and watched the Ark's newcomers. In the line for the energon dispenser, Arcee and Springer flirted with each other, touching fingertips to each other's arms as they related their run-in with the 'Cons to Hot Rod. Hot Rod laughed at their description of throwing the Coneheads into one another, but Sunstreaker caught the furtive glance aimed his way. Such glances at been aimed his way several times since Hot Rod's arrival, and Sunstreaker couldn't say he minded. He knew he was gorgeous.

"You convinced he has a crush on you now?" came an amused voice.

Sunstreaker glanced up at his brother as he slid into the booth next to him. "Just shows he has taste."

Sideswipe snorted. "He's easy on the optics, too, if your return stares are any indication."

Feeling too much like Prowl had caught him pranking Ratchet, Sunstreaker frowned. "Not really."

"Liar." Sideswipe grinned before taking a sip of his energon. "Why don't you talk to him? Your flirting skills may have gotten rusty while on Earth, but I'm sure you'll recover them in no time."

"Glitch." Sunstreaker slugged him in the arm, and Sideswipe laughed. "I'm not rusty."

Sideswipe leaned back in the booth. "Actually, I'm surprised you're interested. I figured you'd see him as a source of competition."

Shaking his head, Sunstreaker let his gaze return to the flame-painted form with its complementary colors. "Have you seen him in alt mode?"

"Not yet." Sideswipe grinned. "Don't tell me someone has finally managed to pass the great Sunstreaker's impossible standards for beauty."

Glancing at his twin, he smirked. "His creators had good taste in colors and design. Besides, he holds his own in battle, unlike some of our comrades." His gaze slipped toward the table where Perceptor, Grapple, and Hoist were exclaiming over the contents of a datapad.

Sideswipe snorted. "Fine, fine. So ask him out!"

Turning his attention back to Hot Rod and catching him staring again, Sunstreaker smiled. "You know, I think I will."

oOoOo

Sitting on a boulder at the base of Mt. Saint Hillary, Sunstreaker watched Hot Rod's approach to the Ark. He and Arcee swerved around each other in a corkscrew pattern, kicking up enough dust to cloud his view of the horizon. The midday sun glared off the sand, causing heat waves that rose and distorted the appearance of the racing cars. The two newcomers seemed immune to the heat, however.

For a moment, Sunstreaker felt a pang of jealousy. He loved to race, wanted to race, and even coveted the opportunity to race Hot Rod. The desert sand seemed to call to him, challenging him to use his top speeds. With buried longing, Sunstreaker hopped from his perch as Arcee and Hot Rod reached the base.

Acree transformed and waved at him. "Hi, Sunstreaker!" She jogged past him, no doubt looking for Springer.

Sunstreaker returned her wave and watched as Hot Rod transformed and walked toward him.

"Nice day for a drive, huh?" Hot Rod said, smiling brightly. "You on duty? If not, I recommend a quick romp in the desert."

"Nah, I'm off duty for the rest of the day." Sunstreaker paused, not wanting to appear too eager. "No one around here wants to race much anymore, though." Pretending to consider the offer first, he gave Hot Rod a disarming smile. "I might be up for it if you are."

Hot Rod's optics brightened with obvious surprise. "I'm not really out of fuel yet, so I might be talked into it." He grinned and turned around, walking a few paces before glancing over his shoulder. "You coming?" He tipped his head, as though encouraging him to follow, then re-initiated his transformation sequence. Once in his alt mode, he revved his engine, clearly egging Sunstreaker on.

Sunstreaker grinned, unable to contain himself. The sleek lines of Hot Rod's alt mode were as eye-catching as the flame design that was so prominent on his chest in root mode. "Sure." He transformed as well, careful to do so in Hot Rod's clear view, knowing how the sun would reflect off his chassis. He revved his engine, the sound of purring motors a welcome relief. "You're the newcomer, so I _guess_ I'll be generous and let you do the countdown." He couldn't keep the teasing from his voice.

Hot Rod chuckled. "Fine, then. Five on the clock!" He revved his exposed engine more loudly. "Five... four... three... two... one!" Wheels screeched, grabbing for traction on the desert floor, then he propelled forward.

Fighting the odd but momentary urge to hang back for a good look at Hot Rod's aft, Sunstreaker pushed his Earth alt mode for optimal performance. He feared that Hod Rod's unchanged form would give him an advantage, the possible speeds on Cybertron being nearly double that of Earth's. But despite his body, he still had his original engine, and he'd be slagged if he let the younger mech beat him. A good race meant just that: good. He poured on the speed, excitement brightening his orn considerably, and reveled in the dust that flew in their wake. Boulders zipped past as they sped across the hard-packed sand, and the wind rushing over his frame made him imagine he was flying. With Hot Rod matching his speed, he couldn't contain his urge to yell out. It'd been too long since someone other than Sides could actually _keep up._ "Slag, _yeah_!"

Hot Rod laughed at the outburst, then hitched his engine into top gear. For kliks, the only sound Sunstreaker heard was the roar of his engine converting fuel to speed. With the sun's warmth on his canopy and the sleek, beautiful form racing with him, he could forget the long, boring war and the whining of minibots. He imagined Hot Rod could actually compete with him, and instead of feeling threatened, he felt ecstatic.

However, Hot Rod suddenly fell behind him, his engine hiccupping as he slid to a halt. Finding himself oddly worried for the younger mech, Sunstreaker threw himself into a U turn, digging in his tires as he nearly fishtailed, and streaked back to him. ::Roddy! Hey! You okay?:: he asked through the comm link.

::Yeah, I'm all right. Just underestimated how much fuel you'd make me burn:: Despite the situation, Hot Rod sounded amused. As Sunstreaker stopped in front of him, Hot Rod transformed and stretched his arms over his head. Then he plopped onto the ground and pulled out an energon ration, chewing it slowly.

Sunstreaker transformed as well and frowned. "You sure that's all? Sometimes newcomers have trouble adjusting to the heat here. It's a lot hotter here in this freak strip of desert than any place Cybertron." Realizing he'd stated the obvious, he smirked. "As I'm sure you've had the joy of noticing." He sat beside Hot Rod and stretched his arms behind him, leaning his weight onto his hands. After a moment, he realized he'd unconsciously sprawled himself in the most flattering position he could and mentally shook his head at himself. _Why is this kid getting to me so much?_ He gazed at the smooth planes of Hot Rod's pale silver face and wondered how it would feel to trace his fingers over them. _Am I that much in withdrawal for decent company?_  
"It _is_ hot, but I'm okay," Hot Rod replied. He stared at Sunstreaker for a moment, then glanced away and held up his container of rations, extending it toward him. "I didn't mean to be rude. You want one?"

Sunstreaker paused, considering the situation. He wasn't really low on fuel, but a small boost wouldn't hurt. More than anything, it would give him a chance to sneak in a touch, and he could just pay Hot Rod back later by saving his aft. He let one corner of his mouth curl up in a smile. "Sure." He reached over, nonchalantly brushing his fingertips across Hot Rod's fingers as he pulled a stick from the pack. He popped it in his mouth, grimacing slightly as he chewed. Energon rations always tasted sour in his opinion. He shifted, using the chance to scoot over slightly, and let his knee brush Hot Rod's. "Too bad you ran low on fuel. You were worth racing, even if I would've still beaten you."

"Beaten me, huh? Maybe here on Earth but not if we were on Cybertron." Smiling smugly, Hot Rod took out another ration and ate it. "I suppose we can have a rematch at some point." He shifted his weight slightly, pressing his leg into Sunstreaker's.

Sunstreaker sneered, although not with the sincerity or force he usually did. "Beat me on Cybertron? No way. Even with my alt mode changed, I'd still whip your aft, and in my original form, you wouldn't have a chance." He grinned, wordlessly inviting Hot Rod into the boasting game that he, Sides, Tracks, and Smokescreen always played. "But a rematch would be great." He stopped, considering the leg pressed against his own. His circuits tingled from the warmth of his plating mixed with the faint vibration of their systems. He considered just leaning in and kissing him, but to his shock, he felt uncertain. Maybe Sides had been right—maybe his flirting skills had gotten rusty. Still, he had to wonder if Hot Rod would punch him for being too forward. Deciding to 'feel' him out one more time, to give him the chance to verbally or nonverbally say 'no', Sunstreaker reached out and briefly touched his arm, then his chassis. "Well, your systems seem to have cooled off."

Hot Rod gave Sunstreaker a sideways look and grinned. "You copping a feel?"

Sunstreaker laughed outright at the bold question. "I sure am. What're you gonna do about it?"

"Primus! You are the most arrogant mech I've ever met." Hot Rod laughed and climbed to his feet, his tone indicating he was teasing. He spun around, the sun glinting off the flame design on his chest. "What an ego!"

Too exhilarated from the race to be offended, Sunstreaker watched Hot Rod's paint glow in the light. He rarely met 'bots who were as brash, fast, and beautiful as he was, and Hot Rod's easy confidence and grace charmed him in spite of himself. He stood as well and grabbed Hot Rod around the waist, pitching his voice in a mock growl. "So you think you can just waltz in and start insulting me, do you?" He stepped back with one foot, turning as though to sling Hot Rod away.

Hot Rod laughed again and grabbed the arms that captured him, clearly intending to hold on. "You bet, Ego 'Bot."

Sunstreaker snorted and toppled them into the sand, letting Hot Rod wrestle him until he was thoroughly trapped under Sunstreaker's larger frame. "'Ego 'Bot?'" he echoed, lightly punching Hot Rod in the side.

"You heard me." Hot Rod grinned, then abruptly stopped struggling. They stared at each other, chassis pressed together and faces so close their lips nearly touched. Sunstreaker had his arms wrapped around Hot Rod's arms, pinning him to the warm sand, but Hot Rod was still able to rest his hands on Sunstreaker's waist.

"You think a lot of yourself, too," Sunstreaker replied, but the way Hot Rod's lips parted as he started to respond struck their pretend argument from his processor. He leaned down, pressing their lips together softly, then pulled away to gauge his reaction.

Hot Rod smirked. "Tease." He yanked Sunstreaker back down, melding their pliable, warm, metal lips together.

Sunstreaker wanted to laugh, but he couldn't with those lips on his. He moaned faintly, having missed this simple pleasure, and cupped Hot Rod's cheek as he pressed into the kiss, running his thumb over his cheek seam. Heat seemed to bloom through his circuits from the point of contact between them, and Sunstreaker wanted more. He flicked Hot Rod's lips with his glossa, asking permission to enter. When Hot Rod parted his lips, Sunstreaker delved into his mouth, caressing and rubbing his glossa with his own, and he shuddered with the unexpected passion that sang through his systems.

Realizing he was on the verge of getting too carried away, Sunstreaker brutally brought himself into check, but as he broke their kiss, he captured Hot Rod's glossa, passing it slowly through his lips. Finally, he pulled back, panting as he fought to draw cool air into his intakes, and ran his thumb over Hot Rod's cheek again. He smiled. "Maybe I go about things backwards, but I'd like for you to go out on a date with me after your shift tomorrow." _And I'll kiss you senseless again. And again,_ he thought to himself.

Looking dazed, Hot Rod shook his head faintly. "Date? Yeah, okay." He grinned suddenly. "But just so you know, I'm the better kisser."

"Slaggin' glitch." The words lacked any heat. "You so are not."

"Wanna take a bet on it? I promise I'll win."

"Sure. And no way." Sunstreaker smiled and stole a quick kiss.

"Are you always this belligerent?" Hot Rod's lingering grin betrayed his amusement.

"Are you?"

"Always." Hot Rod pulled him down into another kiss, slipping his glossa into his mouth.

Sunstreaker submitted to the kiss, to his feelings, and reveled in having someone other than Sideswipe who could understand him.

* * *

_Postscript: Thank you to everyone who has been reviewing and/or faving my "Firsts" stories! The list thus far:_

_"Firsts: Prowl and Sideswipe"—posted  
"Firsts: Wheeljack and Ratchet"—posted  
"Firsts: Prowl and Jazz"—posted  
"Firsts: Hot Rod and Sunstreaker"—here  
"Firsts: Mirage and Jazz"—forthcoming  
"Firsts: Optimus and Elita"—forthcoming /i_


	6. Sunstreaker and Mirage

_Title: Firsts: Sunstreaker and Mirage_  
_Author:_ Mirage Shinkiro

_Rating:_ T  
_Warnings:_ mech/mech kissing, a.k.a. intimacy between androgynous and nonsexually reproducing but male-"pronoun'd" 'bots.

_Disclaimer:_ Transformers is the property of Hasbro, and although I wish I could make money off the TF franchise so I could be independently wealthy, I am not. Alas, I remain poor and am just borrowing the lovely robots.

_Summary:_ G1. Sideswipe supposed he should have seen it coming: Sunstreaker thought he was the best and deserved the best, and Mirage was the best-a beautiful noblemech. Unfortunately for Sideswipe, it wasn't all such a good thing.

_A/N, explanation:_ Pairing requested and secured by fic trade with BloodPaper. Idea the result of a bunny stolen from **tf_bunny_farm** on LiveJournal. Prompt by perianfrost. Also inspired in part by Ariel-D's "A Bond So Special" and Asher119's "Bridges."

_A/N, time:_ Joor=roughly an hour. Orn=roughly a day.

oOoOo

_**Firsts: Sunstreaker and Mirage**_

Mirage tried to make sense out of what was occurring around him. Sand and dust showered around him, obscuring his vision as he hit the ground, and a bright flash of pain lanced across his back. Earth's sun seemed to shine too brilliantly, almost a yellow-white, but even still, it couldn't entirely cut through the dust cloud. He heard a yell in the distance, realized it was his own, and then his only real awareness was the throbbing in his back and the hot sand against his cheek, chest, and legs as he lay face-first on the desert floor.

As the pain subsided, his systems suppressing the sensors, he began noticing the laser fire still zipping overhead. Someone had shot him in the back while he was cloaked, and given the placement of the troops, that meant 'friendly' fire. Well, perhaps not so friendly. It was hard to say yet whether it was an accident since not everyone was completely assured that he was not a traitor thanks to his iffy attitude toward the war and Cliffjumper's recent ravings. Still, he couldn't imagine who would have reason to hurt him on purpose. Cliffjumper had realized that he wasn't a traitor and apologized, and thanks to the smallness of their group, Mirage had managed to overcome his admittedly anti-social tendencies and end up on speaking terms with everyone. Granted, Sideswipe was a bit miffed with him, indirectly, but surely that wasn't enough to warrant shooting him.

Yes, just an accident. Had to be.

The dust died down, giving him a better view of his surroundings, but he knew better than to try to move. Even with the pain receptors offline, he could still feel energon seeping down his back. He had no idea how serious the wound might be and hoped someone had notified Ratchet or Hoist of his situation. However, he was beginning to think he'd spend the rest of the fight inhaling sand before he saw yellow feet rushing his direction. His lover, Sunstreaker.

"Fraggin' slagger," Sunstreaker muttered as he knelt by him. "I'm sorry, Mirage. I can't believe the glitch did that." Yellow hands reached for him.

Mirage wanted to ask what Sunstreaker was talking about or tell him not to touch him or move him. But he knew that Sunstreaker was simply trying to get him to both Ratchet and safety as quickly as possible. "Uhn," he managed to groan, only to offline the instant Sunstreaker grasped him and jarred his injury.

oOoOo

Returning to the land of the functioning slowly, Mirage kept his optics offline and tried to determine how long he'd been unconscious. His chronometer told him he'd been out for eight joors. He expected to hear Ratchet yelling at some other poor injured 'bot, but instead he heard hushed voices arguing.

"-don't know what your problem is," the first voice, immediately identifiable as Sunstreaker, was saying.

"I said it was an accident," hissed the second voice. Sideswipe.

"I don't believe you!"

"You don't seriously think I'd try to kill Mirage, do you?"

A pause. "No, not kill." A cold, flat tone.

"Sunny!" It was growled. "Look, I won't pretend I'm not jealous, but I'm not so low as to shoot Mirage on purpose."

"Jealous why? Because I finally found someone I really like and you haven't?"

Another growl. "No, you dumbaft. Don't you even see what's going on right in front of your face? You spend all your fraggin' time with him now. Everything is 'Mirage this' or 'Mirage and I that.' You never do anything with me anymore and haven't in a good hundred orns. You've vanished. We never hang out, never play video games, never even _spar_. I'm the last one to even know anything about you now."

Mirage held back a frown. _They're fighting over me?_ He'd detected some animosity from Sideswipe recently, but nothing that would suggest he'd literally shoot him in the back. Given that he'd been cloaked at the time, surely it had been an accident, just as Sideswipe had claimed. Right?

"Grow up." Sunstreaker's voice was more of a snarl. "What? Are you going to fulfill the role of lover to me as well? Don't you think I'm going to want to pursue a serious relationship at some point?"

Dead silence for a solid klik. "I never said you shouldn't. I just never expected you to be so selfish that you forgot you even have a brother. You know, Mirage isn't the only 'bot in the fraggin' universe."

A thud of metal against metal told Mirage Sunstreaker had likely hit his brother, and Mirage onlined his optics and sat up instantly. "Stop!"

The brothers stared at him, their hands locked and frozen on each other's arms as though grappling, apparently shocked to find him awake and moving.

"It's not worth fighting over," Mirage whispered, utterly horrified. He hated fighting, period, and would have never joined the Autobots except for his love of Cybertron, which the 'Cons had destroyed.

"The hell it's not!" Sideswipe yelled.

Sunstreaker, his optics blazing with his anger, had yelled simultaneously. "He shot you! On purpose!"

Mirage gazed at both of them, his spark aching. "I'm not here to take anyone's place." He didn't cherish being shot, but he also had to admit that if Sideswipe had really meant to kill him, he'd be dead. Clearly there was more here than was immediately obvious. "You are brothers. Twins. That cannot be and should not be negated. No one relationship should eclipse another: not a lover over a family, not a sparkling over a bondmate, and not even a bondmate over a job. Things must exist in a balance. Don't you get it? Imbalance is what led to this war. Imbalance led to the destruction of our world."

The piercing burn in Sunstreaker's optics faded. He released Sideswipe, pushing him away a step in the process. "We'll finish this discussion later."

Sideswipe smirked. "By all means, attend to your noble lover first." He swept from the room, a crimson streak of rage.

Sunstreaker stared after him, then heaved a high sigh out his intakes. "Slagger."

"Don't be that way." Mirage wasn't entirely sure anything could fully separate the twins, but if anything could, it would not be him. More than that, he was no fool: whatever came between the twins was likely to be crushed by them in collateral damage. "Promise me you won't fight with him again. He is your brother, after all, and I never meant to take up all your time."

Sunstreaker crossed the room and sat on the end of his berth. "Hey, don't get so upset about that. If I were you, I'd be more slagged off that he shot me in the back." He frowned. "Doesn't that bother you?"

Mirage preferred not to consider all the implications. "I was cloaked. It had to be an accident."

Sunstreaker didn't look convinced.

"Promise me." Mirage took one of Sunstreaker's hands and squeezed it. "No matter how inevitable you may consider our relationship, your brother was taken off guard and is hurting now."

Sunstreaker smirked. "Hey, I deserve nothing but the best." He gestured to the noble crest on Mirage's chest. "And you're the best." He grinned then, clearly teasing.

Well, sort of. Mirage snorted. "Yes, yes, my dearest beauty queen. Now promise me."

Sunstreaker gave him a playful shove on the shoulder for his pet name, then shook his head. "Fine. I promise I'll talk to the slagger."

"Thank you." It was not a topic Mirage would let slide. Not for Sunstreaker, not for Sideswipe, and certainly not for himself, considering what had happened.

Sunstreaker grasped his chin, still grinning. "You're almost as impossible as I am, sometimes." He leaned forward, pausing momentarily, and Mirage realized he meant to kiss him. Mirage found the human custom rather odd, but he didn't pull away. Sunstreaker continued forward, apparently realizing he had his lover's permission, and pressed their lips together, then captured Mirage's lower lip, sucking on it gently for a moment before releasing it.

Mirage found he couldn't speak right away. It was more than the unexpected pleasure of the human custom, though. It was the reminder that Sunstreaker cared for him genuinely. What was forming between them was no shallow fling.

"I'll go track him down," Sunstreaker said, standing. "You just rest, okay?"

Mirage nodded mutely and watched his lover leave medbay. It would be no simple thing to fix, this rift between the brothers. It hadn't sprung up over night, and if it'd already reached the stage of violence for Sideswipe, it'd been ignored too long.

Still, Mirage hoped Sunstreaker could hold his temper long enough to begin the process.

* * *

_Postscript: So, I went for something totally different this time, including the rather open ending. And why not? (Although I must admit this could be a much longer story .)_

_Of course, kissing TFs are actually canon circa 1985, but it's still a valid consideration considering they're an alien species. _


	7. Ironhide and Chromia

_Title: Firsts: Chromia and Ironhide_  
_Author:_ Mirage Shinkiro

_Rating:_ T  
_Warnings:_ smooching robots

_Disclaimer:_ Transformers is the property of Hasbro, and although I wish I could make money off the TF franchise so I could be independently wealthy, I am not. Alas, I remain poor and am just borrowing the lovely robots.

_Summary:_ G1. At a question from Prowl, Ironhide remembers his first kiss with Chromia.

_A/N, explanation:_ This is another in a series of one shots about various couples, all of them surrounding a first kiss.

For Flamingmarsh and Shizuka Taiyou.

* * *

_**Firsts: Ironhide and Chromia**_

When Ironhide saw Prowl swoop into the rec room, a place he normally avoided, and head straight for his table, he suspected he already knew what was on the tactician's mind. In fact, he figured he knew exactly what Prowl would ask him, and he hid his smile by sipping on his energon cube.

Prowl slipped into the chair across from him, glanced around the mostly empty room as though to assure himself that Bluestreak and the twins were too involved in their video game to notice their conversation, then met Ironhide's gaze. "May I ask you a question?"

Ironhide swallowed his laugh. "Sure, Prowl."

"It occurs to me that when Chromia and you began dating, you broke fraternization rules. When you bonded, you broke several more." Prowl folded his hands on the table, no doubt trying to appear all-business, but his doorwings twitched nervously. "How did you justify your decisions, and how did Prime react?"

Hiding behind his cube again, Ironhide grinned, knowing perfectly well which 'bot had captured Prowl's attention to the point he was willing to ponder _breaking rules_. "Ah, yer puttin' it nicely. We didn't just break 'em, we steam-rolled 'em." _I'd do it again in a sparkbeat, too._ "I'm still here, right? An' Chromia's still got her rank, right?"

"Indeed." Prowl's doorwings perked faintly.

Ironhide waved off his uncharacteristic impatience. "I'm gonna tell ya." He was more than happy to do so, actually. He treasured every moment he'd had with Chromia, from the first to the most recent, abbreviated contact they'd had when Optimus had rushed to save Elita One's life.

oOoOo

On their first date, Ironhide had felt like he was a youngling again. He kept sputtering when he talked and tripping over his pedes when he walked. All-in-all, he figured he looked like an idiot.

"Would ya like to go to the Crystal Gardens?" he'd asked as they left the cozy corner café where they'd sipped energon together (and where he'd promptly spilled his drink on his lap).

Chromia grinned at him, the blue of her optics seeming to nearly sparkle with amusement and vivacity. "Sure! Sounds wonderful."

Ironhide grinned, offering her his arm, and they'd wandered through the city, carefully avoiding the topic of just how long they'd be able to walk the streets without fear and enjoy sights that were not bombed-out. In fact, with Chromia at his side, Ironhide could temporarily forget there _was_ a war.

"Lovely, isn't it?" Chromia asked as they reached the garden of graceful crystals.

"Very," Ironhide agreed as they entered the arching gate, gazing up at the towering crystals which ranged in color from clear to purple to blue. The gardeners tended to them religiously, letting some crystals grow naturally while others they shaped.

Chromia chose to visit the garden's center where various artists had been given large chunks of the crystals to fashion into sculptures for display. Recently the Autobots had begun moving the sculptures to an underground museum in order to protect them from Seeker bombing raids, but there were still several left. Chromia pointed to a bench in front of a turbofox sculpture, and they sat down, relaxing in the blue glow created by the garden's lighting.

"I'm going to miss this place." Chromia sighed, a frown tugging at her lips. "It won't be quite the same in a museum."

Ironhide frowned. "Stupid 'Cons. Still, it's better than losin' it all." He bumped her shoulder gently with his own. "An' let's enjoy it while we can."

Chromia's responding smile was laced with sadness, but she nodded and rested against the bench. They chatted amiably for a breem, discussing which sculptures they liked best, but Ironhide grew distracted with the need to touch her. He'd been helm-over-pedes for her long before getting up the courage to ask her out, and he wanted to kiss her, hold her hand, _something!_ Finally choosing a course of action, he started to put his arm around her, hesitated with the thought she might find it forward, then completed the action. He laid his arm on the bench back without its actually touching her.

She shot him an impish sideways glance. "You know, if I didn't want your arm there, I'd have broken it before you finished moving."

Femmes were scary. "Oh, okay." Ironhide laughed nervously and curled his arm around her shoulders.

"I like that you're such a gentleman," she amended, wry smile quirking her lips. "But you can rest assured that if I don't like something, you'll know it immediately."

Ironhide had little doubt of that, but he had to laugh at her playful tone. "I believe ya. Yer a real spitfire!"

Chromia grinned. Taking in her relaxed posture, Ironhide leaned forward, bringing their faces together slowly in order to telegraph his intentions. Something about the angle was off, however. He tilted his head further right, trying to compensate, but it still didn't feel right. He shifted on the bench, turning his shoulders as well, but he still couldn't escape the sensation that they would bump noses.

Finally Chromia laughed and captured his chin with her fingers. Holding him still, she corrected the angle and brushed their lips together delicately. Ironhide couldn't decide whether that brief contact aroused him or frustrated him, and as though reading his processor, Chromia laughed and pressed their lips together more firmly, capturing his bottom lip and sucking on it.

Ironhide decided 'aroused' was the appropriate answer.

After a klik, Chromia released his chin and sat back, still grinning. Ironhide opened his mouth, wanting to say something witty or glib or at least romantic. Nothing came to mind. _How the frag do those romantic holovids make it look so easy?_ he thought, irritated, and decided to choose a topic that was bothering him.

"So, do ya think us datin' will cause problems? I know there's regs about this stuff." Ironhide leaned back against the bench, frowning.

"Well," Chromia said, her optics flaring bright with obvious mischievousness, "I'll let you in on a little secret. Optimus and Elita are dating, and they have been since before the war began. So really they can't say anything."

Ironhide sputtered for a moment. He'd realized his new friend flirted a great deal with Elita, but he hadn't known they were dating. "Oh!"

Chromia grinned and shrugged one shoulder. "What can I say? Fate is on our side."

oOoOo

Prowl stared at Ironhide as he finished his answer. "But a special exception was made for Prime and Elita due to the circumstances surrounding their re-creation."

"An' do ya think Prime'll accept a perk that he won't pass on to anyone else?" Ironhide shook his head. "Ain't no way. Prime never said anythin' 'bout us datin'. As for the bondin' part, we just did it and argued for it after the fact."

Prowl's incredulously raised optic ridge was matched by the further perking of his doorwings. "That could have ended in your being busted down to private."

Ironhide smirked. "Not when yer Prime wants to bond, too."

Prowl looked as though he'd prefer a processor crash to Ironhide's logic. "So your answer is to charge in emotionally and do whatever I want? And hope Prime understands?"

"Sure! Ya know he will." Ironhide had to hide another smile. As though Prowl would take such a chance.

"Very well," Prowl replied nonchalantly. He stood, doorwings suddenly relaxed on his back, and whisked from the room.

Dumbfounded, Ironhide stared after him, trying to decide whether Prowl had just made his very first joke. From the corner came the laughter of Bluestreak and the twins, who'd obviously been listening all along.

* * *

_Postscript: Thank you to pl 2363 for beta reading and thanks to everyone who has been reviewing and/or faving my other "Firsts" stories. Here's the list thus far:_

_Posted:  
"Firsts: Prowl and Sideswipe"  
"Firsts: Wheeljack and Ratchet"  
"Firsts: Prowl and Jazz"  
"Firsts: Hot Rod and Sunstreaker"  
"Firsts: Mirage and Jazz"  
"Firsts: Optimus and Elita"  
"Firsts: Skyfire and Perceptor"  
"Firsts: Thundercracker and Skywarp"  
"Firsts: Ratchet and Sideswipe"  
"Firsts: Scavenger and Fireflight"  
"Firsts: Drift and Perceptor"  
"Firsts: Prowl and Bluestreak"  
"Firsts: Starscream and Megatron"  
"Firsts: Red Alert and Inferno"  
"Firsts: Ironhide and Chromia"_

_Still to come:  
WheeljackxBlurr  
RatchetxIronhide  
Ultra MagnusxRodimus  
StarscreamxProwl  
OptimusxHot Rod  
[5 other pairings exist on a backup list with no promises attached]_

_Requests are now closed._


	8. Wheeljack and Blurr

_Title: Firsts: Wheeljack and Blurr _  
_Author:_ Mirage Shinkiro

_Rating:_ T  
_Warnings:_ mech/mech kissing, a.k.a. intimacy between androgynous and nonsexually reproducing but male-"pronoun'd" 'bots.

_Disclaimer:_ Transformers is the property of Hasbro, and although I wish I could make money off the TF franchise so I could be independently wealthy, I am not. Alas, I remain poor and am just borrowing the lovely robots.

_Summary:_ G1. Wheeljack has secretly loved Blurr for vorns, but he struggles to gather the courage to tell him.

_A/N, explanation:_ Originally entitled "Poetry in Motion" and submitted to tfic_contest on LJ for the August challenge "Summer storms and winter rains."

For SilverPhantom. Sorry it took me so long, my friend!

* * *

_**Firsts: Wheeljack and Blurr—Poetry in Motion**_

Dancing past, Blurr is all grace and fluid movements as he enters Wheeljack's lab. Ever smiling, Blurr reminds him of summer, a season Cybertron hasn't seen for five millennia. Still Wheeljack can remember warm summer evenings. The sun would set low on the horizon, painting the sky crimson and gold, while the stars rose in the east, dotting the heavens with sparkling white lights. Happy memories of a happier time, but when Wheeljack looks at Blurr, he can smile secretly beneath his blast mask.

Now, though, the world is dark and chilly. Night reigns forever on a world with no sun, and Wheeljack rests momentarily in his lab after his shift ends. The orn's project is the same as it has been for a stellar cycle now: the _Ark._ Wheeljack and Grapple have designed it, and every engineer, mechanic, and construction worker in the Autobot forces has been relocated to Iacon to help build it. Even Blurr has been appropriated and roped into the task, his speed considered an asset for a job they have little time to complete.

"You-cleaned-your-lab," Blurr notes, zipping from shelf to shelf in Wheeljack's private sanctum. "You-never-clean-okay-you-do-clean-but not-unless-you're-worried-so-what-are-you-worried-about?"

The flowing words wash over Wheeljack's processor like a silvery river. He and Blurr have become friends over the vorns, having held lengthy conversations during the many repairs and modifications Wheeljack has performed on his legs. Over time, their talks expanded to the mess hall or the corner pub, and now Wheeljck's spark surges when he sees Blurr. "I'm not worried, promise."

"Liar." Blurr races up to his desk and stops, leaning over it. "You-can-tell-the-others-whatever-you-like-but-you-don't-have-to-always-be-cheerful-around-me-so-please-tell-me-what's-wrong."

Leaning back in his desk chair, Wheeljack glances away, feeling petty. The larger the challenge, the more determination he can muster, but small setbacks infuriate him. He stares at the dingy copper walls and shelves of his lab, further irritated by their orange hue. The polymer protecting them from turning brown or green works, but it doesn't hold the true color. "It's something stupid," he admits, all too aware that his audiofins are flashing too dimly as he talks.

With fluid motions, Blurr gestures at the room with his arm, leaving a blue smear in the air. "It-can't-be-too-stupid-if-you-cleaned-your-entire-lab-because-I-know-how-you-hate-to-clean-this-place-and-yet-you-did-it-overnight."

"Pest." A trace of humor lightens Wheeljack's tone. Leave it to Blurr to not let a subject drop. "It's just . . . well, I proposed an alteration to the _Ark's_ shields that I think will strengthen them, but Perceptor shot it down. That wouldn't usually bother me, but that's the fifth proposal in a row I've made that he's rejected." He frowns to himself, unable to shake the feeling something will go wrong on their mission.

Blurr dances from foot-to-foot as though too agitated to stand still. Others find it annoying, but to Wheeljack Blurr is poetry in motion — the graceful curve of a hip, the sinuous stretch of a leg. When set free to run, Blurr's every step is smooth, flowing, elegant. Perfection. Wheeljack sometimes imagines the beauty of Blurr's back arching off his berth, his hands covering the expanse of Blurr's abdomen as he brings him pleasure. He can almost hear the breathless panting, the impassioned cries and whimpers; he dreams of the warm body beneath him, pressing against him. However, he hasn't yet found the courage for a simple kiss. Blurr doesn't know the depth of Wheeljack's feelings, and since Blurr is surrounded by a gaggle of handsome friends his own age, Wheeljack is unwilling to tell him.

"That-would-be-upsetting-and-I-don't-think-you're-being-petty-at-all." Blurr halts abruptly, standing utterly still for a klik. "But-it's-more-than-that-isn't-it? You're-upset-about-something-else-I-can-tell-so-don't-you-dare-hide-it-from-me."

Blurr is right. Wheeljack slumps, trying to decide whether to air his grievance or not. While it's true that Blurr reminds him of summer, in Wheeljack's mind it's a summer full of storms. Since their work is almost complete, the _Ark_ will be leaving soon, and Wheeljack is unsure how long they'll be gone before they can find energy. And although he's tried and tried, but he can't get Blurr added to the crew's manifest. "We'll probably be done with the _Ark_ in two decarons."

"And-that's-bad-why?" Blurr leans against his desk, pushing the sensual slope of his hip outward.

Wheeljack gathers his courage and meets Blurr's gaze. "Because you won't be going with me." No, Wheeljack will leave, and it will be like winter instead. Not warm summer storms but the cold rains of a lonely spark.

Time stands motionless, the poetry of Blurr's movements absent and captured like a still frame. Then, so quickly that Wheeljack barely registers it, Blurr swoops to his side, kneeling by his chair. "I know." The words are slower, more precise. He reaches for Wheeljack's hand, only to pause and let his arm drop. "I wish I was going with you."

Watching Blurr lower his head, Wheeljack realizes he's been a fool. All this time he's been convinced Blurr couldn't be interested in an older mech like himself, but here Blurr is, hovering beside him and wishing to touch him. Retracting the mask that protects his face, Wheeljack bares himself to Blurr. It's been a vorn since he's done so for anything other than medical reasons, and it feels oddly intimate. "I've actually requested that you be added to the crew manifest."

Blurr flinches and doesn't look up, although his grimace is still evident. "I-know-and-I've-made-the-same-request-but-the-crew-complement-is-so-small-and-they're-being-so-picky-and-Kup's-asked-specifically-that-I-remain-here-under-his-command-and-it's-just-so-frustrating!" He glances up. "I-don't-want-to-be —" He pauses, staring at Wheeljack's face. His words become a halting whisper. "Primus . . . you're beautiful."

Although Wheeljack's spark sings at the revelation that Blurr has tried to remain with him, it surges white-hot at his compliment. "So are you." His voice trembles at the admission, at the need to touch Blurr.

However, Blurr is the one who touches him, reaching up to cup Wheeljack's cheek. He slowly traces his thumb down his cheek seam then over his lips. "I want to stay with you." The intensity of his gaze spears Wheeljack's spark. "Do you love me?"

"Yes." The word leaves Wheeljack's mouth before his processor even catches up. He's wanted to say so for far too long.

In a graceful leap, Blurr knocks Wheeljack from his chair, toppling them onto the floor and cushioning their impact with one hand. He settles between Wheeljack's legs and cups his face again, once more tracing his fingertips over Wheeljack's lips. He speaks slowly, carefully, quietly. "I've longed to hear you say that."

Caught under Blurr's weight, Wheeljack's circuits tingle with the electricity that surges through his frame. The intimate, sensual nature of their position triggers a tidal wave of arousal, and for a moment, Wheeljack's fantasy plays in reverse — Blurr's hands on his body as he arches into the touch, gasping Blurr's name. The idea is equally appealing, although Wheeljack doesn't want to rush through the first, tender stages of their relationship. "I've longed to say it."

Blurr leans down, capturing Wheeljack's lips in a soft kiss. When Wheeljack runs his arms around his shoulders, pulling him close, Blurr presses into the kiss, sucking gently on his lower lip. Wheeljack loops one leg over Blurr's leg, entwining their bodies, and sucks Blurr's upper lip in return, moaning faintly as his panel rubs Blurr's thigh. Teasing Blurr's lips with his glossa, Wheeljack coaxes Blurr's mouth open, and then their glossa caress, creating a dance of their own. Poetry of a different nature arises between them, and for that moment, their lives are neither summer storms nor winter rain but rather spring sunshine.

However, too soon the interlude is over and clouds bunch on the horizons again. When they part, they lock gazes, optics saying what their words can't.

"We don't have long," Wheeljack whispers.

Blurr shakes his head. "Better two decaorns than nothing."

Truth, although a bitter one. "Then stay with me for now." Wheeljack is willing to sacrifice all his recharge to simply talk with Blurr through the night.

"I will." Blurr languidly brushes his fingertips over Wheeljack's audiofin, making him shiver. "And I'll be here when you return from your mission, too."

Wheeljack can only pray that will come true.


End file.
